


Of Microphones and Manhandling

by vatreniworld



Series: Luka Wins Everything [5]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Crack, Gen, Penguins, Yes that is a running theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 07:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17158031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vatreniworld/pseuds/vatreniworld
Summary: It's not a Croatia National Team match unless something goes awry.





	Of Microphones and Manhandling

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the “Luka Wins Everything AU” series! Where everything’s made up and sanity doesn’t count.
> 
> Musical Inspiration: “Birdhouse In Your Soul” by They Might Be Giants
> 
> Crossposted from my blog.

The rematch against Spain loomed over the team for several days. While the team was enthusiastic at practices, the usual touch of mayhem and mischief was missing.

Despite Luka’s and Dalić’s best efforts to try and turn attention away from what Ema dubbed the “Apocalypse Game” -

(“Ema, you make it sound like we died,” Luka chuckled to pretend he didn’t want to wince at every memory of that match.

Ema tilted her head and jutted out her lower lip. “You  _didn’t_  die?”

A bitter howl of wind cut through the house seemingly out of nowhere, blowing Luka over while Ema tiptoed around his body to grab a snack from the kitchen.

“How many times must my daughter betray me, Lord?” Luka groaned to the ceiling.)

\- the Croatian media circuit had every intention of making the impending contest against Spain out to be a battle of guts, glory, and (in Mario’s not-so-helpful opinion) revenge.

“We’re not here for revenge,” Luka sighed in the locker room. “Just relax and the points will come.”

“Go out there and crush their hopes and dreams!” echoed off the walls.

Once the sound faded out into nothingness, Šime smacked his lips and stated blandly, “Sounds like Mandžo broke into the PA system.”

Domo crossed his arms and huffed, “How unoriginal. That’s  _my_  schtick.”

Another voice came through the speakers, “Mario! Stop it! Gimme the microphone!”

“No, Suba! It’s mine!”

Čarli’s voice added an agitated, “Suba, just let him have it.”

The duo quickly began to scuffle and struggle for the microphone.

Lovre raised his hand, but didn’t wait for permission to speak when he asked, “Isn’t the PA system connected to the stadium?”

Dalić closed his eyes, muttered three Hail Marys under his breath, and whispered tersely, “Yes.”

Luka clicked his tongue.  _Great_.

After the national anthems, when three men - three  _human beings_  - walked onto the pitch to referee the game, Luka thought might need to be institutionalized with Lopetegui. He slapped his cheeks to get the blood flowing.

To his relief, the men were still there with not a flipper in sight. He wasn’t losing his mind.

“No penguins today?” Luka murmured to Peri, adjusting his headband to secure his hair appropriately.

Peri finished stretching out his shoulders. “Guess not. Why?” he snorted. “Did you actually want them to referee this match?”

Luka hummed. “I’ve kind of gotten used to seeing them around. Plus,” he jerked his head towards the bench where Livi sat wrapped in his parka, “they seem to like Livi a lot and they don’t waste time.”

Peri tilted his head to and fro, digesting his captain’s statement. “Even though they attacked us last time?”

“Livi said that it was only because the English fans threw them over the stands, so it kind of made sense.”

“So you’re saying that if  _you_  were a penguin,” Peri coughed to try and cover his laughter, “thrown into the air that you’d attack us, too?”

Luka frowned. “Well, when you put it like that it sounds insane.”

Though, compared to Real’s match against Sevilla and whatever that hell that was against Barca (well…Messi), Luka supposed that this would  _technically_  be considered a ‘normal’ match. Rather, ‘normal’ just came to mean an absence of penguins.

“But,” he added, “when has anything we’ve done not been insane?”

Peri rolled his eyes. “Touché.”

After forty-five minutes of play, Spain and Croatia remained deadlocked.

Thankfully, Andrej’s goal got the ball rolling.

(Perhaps, rolling a bit  _too much_  as Spain equalized two minutes later.)

Luka would take it, though. It was the start they needed if they hoped to have even a prayer of staying in League A.

He set up for a corner with a heaving breath. Why were corners like pulling teeth that night?

He scanned the arrangement of his teammates interspersed with Spain’s. To his disappointment, Sergio wasted no opportunity covering the men with the best header success average. Yet - Luka bit his lip to hide a rare smirk - Croatia still had an ace up its sleeve.

(“That’s not an ace, Luka,” Raketa chastised at practice the night before. “That’s a joker!”)

Ignoring that nagging memory, Luka punted the ball over the majority of players.

He had to admit, though, seeing Sergio’s eyes widen in both shock and realization that he couldn’t do anything to stop what would happen next was pretty satisfying.

Tin tapped his head against the ball and hit it into the goal before De Gea could completely react.

The team swarmed him in the only way they knew how - baudy, over-the-top hugs and shouts.

“Good shot, Tin!” Luka beamed and cupped the back of the young defender’s head. “Good thing you told me you were clear.”

Tin alternated between looking at the goal and Luka. “I did?” he squeaked.

Luka nodded. “Yeah! Great eye contact!”

Tin faintly recalled less than a millisecond where he caught Luka’s falcon-sharp gaze (or, as Domo liked to refer to it, “the pew-pew lazerbeam stare”) before his captain lobbed the ball over the field and realized - albeit a hair later and less smoothly than he would ever wish - Luka intended it for him.

_Thank God it actually went in…_

“Oh, yeah…that,” Tin cleared his throat. “I meant to do that.”

Luka lightly bumped Tin’s shoulder with a fist and jogged in the opposite direction to get back in formation.

“You didn’t plan any of that, did you?” Brozo asked flatly.

Tin shook his head, his fringe tickling the skin just below his eyebrows. He piped, “Nope.”

Domo wiped at the traces of tears forming in his eyes, sniffling, “I taught him so well.”

Brozo rolled his eyes and muttered, “Well, we’ve had better plans go to complete shit so why not?” As he strode to his appropriate spot, he shouted over his shoulder, “Try not to let Spain retaliated too quickly, will ya?!”

Tin scratched the nape of his neck. “Was that…a compliment?”

Domo nodded sagely. “Yes. Brozo doesn’t show it often, but he is proud of you little tykes.”

“Can you not call us ‘tykes?’ We’re all adults, you know.”

Off to the right, Dejan grumbled, “I’m gonna elbow him, Šime.”

Šime raised a brow. “Who?”

Dejan sputtered, “Who else? Ramos!”

“That’s a bad idea, Dejo. You’ll definitely get a red for it.”

“But you think it’d be worth it, right?”

Šime deadpanned, “No, it sounds like a shit idea.”

Dejan narrowed his eyes as though to reconsider his options.

Šime nearly sighed in relief except Dejan gruffed, “I’m gonna do it!” and stomped away.

Šime jumped on Dejan’s back and threw his arms around his friend’s neck in a half-attempt at a chokehold. “No,” he hissed, “you’re  _not_!”

“MAKE ME!”

Tin watched the spectacle with a blank visage. He turned to Domo. “I stand corrected.”

Domo sniggered, “Thought so.”

Twenty five minutes and a second equalizing goal for Spain later, Luka thought they were sunk. They needed a  _win_ , not just a draw.

He couldn’t help but wonder if the penguins would have given Spain the penalty for Šime’s handball in the first place, but the point was moot.

It seemed Fate had different plans, though - specifically, to prove Luka wrong. Fate, that night, must have heard Mario bellow, “FOR SHIT’S SAKE, PUT IT IN!” and responded in kind.

With less than a minute to spare, Tin hit the ball into the back of Spain’s net.

Luka was just grateful they managed to get three more points - and without his children kidnapping any of his teammates to boot.

* * *

If Luka thought that the ‘normal’ nature of having human referees would continue, he was sorely mistaken.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” he said more to himself than Lovre as they walked through the tunnel to England’s home pitch. “Might as well just let it be…”

Three emperor penguins stood in the center of the field, squawking among themselves.

“You’re okay with this?” Lovre asked with a slight furrow of his brows as he slipped on his gloves.

Luka licked his lips. “Don’t really have much of a choice, do I? They’re here. They’re qualified. They’re in  _uniforms_.”

“You got a point there.”

England, though, did not seem to be taking the revelation as laissez faire as Croatia.

Just as the rest of the Croatian team gathered at the mouth of the tunnel, Kane weaved through them in a panic.

“Going somewhere, Kane?” Dejan snorted.

“Yes, away from  _here_!”

Luka shouted over the roar of the fans in the stadium, “Harry, come back! People are here to see you!”

“Nope!” Kane shook his head as he continued deeper into the tunnel. “Nuh-uh, no sir-ee, absolutely not!”

“Harry,” Luka acquiesced. “Just give it a chance.”

“No! I refuse!” He whipped around, cheeks flushed, and pointed at a penguin in accusation. “One of those things curbstomped me last time!”

“Pretty sure those were a different type of penguin,” Domo clarified.

“Gentoo,” Tin offered easily. “Very different from emperor penguins.”

Luka shrugged. “They’re really good. Competent. Aren’t going to sell you a bullshit story.”

Kane paused mid-step and turned around just enough to catch Luka’s gaze. “You’re serious?”

“This would be too elaborate a prank even for Šime and Dejan.”

Dejan snorted, “I take offense to that.”

Lovre brought a fist down on top of Dejan’s head; Tin added a jab to the ribs.

“Ow! What the hell was  _that_  for?!” Dejan squalled.

“Just shut up,” they replied in unison.

Kane glanced around, still unconvinced. “How do I know that we’re not gonna get screwed by some,” he shot a peek out of the corner of his eye at a penguin fiddling with the whistle between his flippers, “oversights?”

Livi poked his head around the concrete support for the tunnel. He explained, “They told me they don’t like using VAR.”

“Are you shitting me?!”

Livi looked at Luka, bemused, then back at Kane. “No.”

“Why didn’t you say so?!” Kane pushed past the group and walked over to the nearest emperor penguin to kiss him on the forehead. He grimaced and mouthed something that looked like, “Seaweed,” and skipped towards the rest of his teammates.

The penguin shook his head and patted with his flipper the spot where Kane kissed him.

“That was…weird,” Livi said only to shrug it off and walk towards the bench. “Gotta tell Rog that Kane kissed a penguin. I hope someone got a photo of that.”

Lovre peered down at Luka. “Could this day get any stranger?”

Luka grimaced. “Don’t ask.”

The match was not going smoothly to say the least.

Official positions meant nothing; formations meant nothing. Tin was playing every position known to man, giving Luka déjà vu of a handful of his recent matches with Real.

Luka would have preferred not to use his superspeed in a situation like this - especially since Vanja wasn’t around to do any memory alterations - but he supposed that the  _tiniest_  of boosts wouldn’t draw too much suspicion. Except, if Vanja was watching the game from home and figured out he used his powers, he’d be dead in the water.

He could already hear the conversation in his head: he’d explain the situation; she’d blow holes in his logic; he’d try to argue; she’d sick Sofia on him. The end.

On the other hand, without Mario there to yell at the team, Luka could already feel the them begin to slow down.

Apparently, he reached that conclusion a moment too soon.

A cloud of fog formed over the stadium followed a couple claps of thunder, which sounded suspiciously like the  _pops_  of firecrackers.

“What  _now_?” Dejan growled.

A giant projection of Mario - at least, Luka hoped it was just a projection - manifested in front of the fog.

Luka always knew the national team had a flair for dramatics, but this was getting ridiculous.

An assistant referee penguin took his flag and pointed it at the giant Mario in the sky to indicate he was offside.

Krama and Ante placed their hands over their hearts, blubbering, “Sir, we miss you!”

Tin blew a raspberry and wondered aloud, “Did Mandžo get this idea from Domo?”

Domo shook his head. “It’s not mine. Plus, he never found my stash of prank books.”

“Prank books?!”

“…I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

The giant Mario pointed down at the field.

Kane laughed anxiously. “Luka, why do I feel like I’m about to be smited?…Smote?”

“I don’t know. English is your first language, not mine.”

Kane pouted.

The giant Mario’s voice reverberated through the stadium, “Friends, Croats, dumb-asses.”

“He’s talking about us, isn’t he?” Dejan asked Šime behind Luka.

Šime retorted, “Don’t lump my dumbassery with the likes of yours.”

“ _My dumbassery_?!”

Luka pinched the vein throbbing between his eyebrows.

Mario continued, “Should Croatia not prevail in this match, it would be very much,” he paused and glowered, “no good.”

Unimpressed with the spectacle, the head referee penguin blew his whistle and motioned for Mario to move along.

The giant Mario rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I see you Mr. Penguin,” he droned only to catch himself a moment later. “I’m - ….Mr.  _Penguin_?”

“Mario, can I put you down now?” Čarli’s voice echoed similarly to Mario’s. “You’re not exactly as light as Luka…”

“Quiet, Čarli. I’m still trying to figure out why there’s a penguin in a ref’s uniform.”

“Sorry,” Čarli grunted. “But, my grip’s slipping…”

“If you drop me, I swear to-”

A loud crash followed by the shrill squeak of microphone feedback shot through the stadium. The giant Mario above the stadium disappeared in an instant, but his voice could still be heard.

“Dammit, Čarli! What did I just say?!”

Suba deadpanned, “I told you guys this was a bad idea.”

“Shut up!” both Mario and Čarli barked.

Mario gruffed, “Point is: you guys better win this or I’ll kick all your asses.”

With that declaration, the sound cut out, leaving the stadium dead quiet.

_Well_ , Luka thought,  _maybe Vanja won’t have as much of a problem with the superspeed after that_.

Marcus Rashford looked around in wide-eyed bewilderment before he finally decided to break the silence. “Question: is this a normal thing for you guys?”

“Absolutely,” Peri said while he consoled Krama and Ante crying into his shoulders.

“Pretty much,” Luka added.

Rashford looked no less confused. “Right…,” he cleared his throat, “and how often does it happen?”

Without missing a beat, the entire Croatia team, including the staff and the members on the bench, replied, “Daily.”


End file.
